August 26, 2007 |
Strafford, N.H. Imagine the new poet laureate of the United States in a blue, short-sleeved linen shirt and blue jeans. He is 69 years old. His neatly cut hair is white and gray. He has the squared jaw of an Eastern European, with a perpetual, almost sly half-smile that moves from left to right up his face. He is standing on his wooden deck by the shores of Bow Lake. He shrugs a lot, as if the answers to all the questions one might ask a poet could be turned back on the interlocutor.
August 3, 2007 |
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Charles Simic, who learned English as a teenage immigrant, will be the new U.S. poet laureate, the Library of Congress announced Thursday. Simic, who lives in Strafford, N.H., will replace another New Hampshire poet, Donald Hall of Wilmot, who said Thursday he was delighted by Simic's selection. The poet laureate program promotes poetry across the nation.
November 28, 2001
Poetry reading--In a calendar listing in Sunday's Book Review, the wrong time was given for a reading by poet Charles Simic. Simic will read today at the Skirball Cultural Center at 7:30 p.m. The center is at 2701 N. Sepulveda Blvd.
April 1, 2001 |
Writers' memoirs are a mixed bag: Often, it's less interesting (and less informative) to hear a writer talk about his work than it is to read the work itself, and sometimes we find ourselves reading as much for gossip as for insight.
March 7, 1999
With the wind gusting so wildly, So unpredictably, I'm willing to bet one or two ants May have tumbled on their backs As we sit here on the porch. Their feet are pedaling Imaginary bicycles. It's a battle of wits against Various physical laws, Plus Fate, plus-- So-what-else-is-new? Wondering if anyone's coming to their aid Bringing cake crumbs, Miniature editions of the Bible, A lost thread or two Cleverly tied end to end. From "Jackstraws" by Charles Simic (Harcourt Brace: 86 pp., $22)
October 20, 1996
Happiness, unknown woman, There's a childhood picture Of the two of us, Your hands are covering my eyes, All but your arms are cut off. I always hoped you'll return. I'll be doing nothing in particular, Barely keeping an eye on the person Ahead of me at the checkout counter, When that delicious blindness Will again sweep me off my feet. It's a baffle, I said only yesterday.